Never Give Up, Never Surrender
by FatesMistake
Summary: George can't cope after the war, until he receives help from the most unlikely of places. Very Sad. Gen fic.


Dead eyes. That's what George saw as he stared at the dark and empty store front for Weasley Wizard Wheezes. Dead brown eyes, a grin stretching dead lips…He shook himself free of these cloying thoughts and forced himself forward. He unlocked the door, bypassing the security measures he and Fred had designed. The lights came magically to life as he entered, and tears sprung into his own brown eyes as he recalled for the thousandth time that he was completely alone in the world now.

He hadn't wanted to come back here, but the place had been calling him back since the funeral. It was their dream, the one they'd created together. He _had_ to come back, and even at the funeral he'd known he would eventually. He just hadn't expected it to be so soon. Still, he wouldn't be entirely alone. Ron and Lee had both offered to help him run the store, and he'd already agreed to hire them both.

It was just so hard to believe he would never see his mirror image again except in reflection. It hurt horribly to have half your soul ripped from the world. It was an unimaginable pain. He had never expected he would go through life alone, and now he had no choice. None at all.

 _-Break-_

He kept mistaking Ron for Fred. The little goofball had just gotten so damn tall. It didn't seem to matter that Ron was stockier, and his hair was a shade lighter, he'd glimpse him from the corner of his eye and his heart would lurch with momentary relief and joy. Then he'd remember: Fred was gone, and he was _never_ coming back.

George felt himself slipping slowly into madness. The only thing that seemed to help was alcohol. He drank himself to sleep almost every night now. And sometimes in the mornings to help dull the pain of waking up without the smell of burnt sausage wafting through the loft. Fred always loved to cook, even though he was capable of burning just about everything. Even coffee, once. George had been forced to booby trap the kitchen in an attempt to keep Fred out, but Fred had always been able to figure his way around the booby traps.

And now there was Ron. Flat-headed Neanderthal who walked in without knocking and turned into a tornado in his kitchen making himself (and just himself, the ungrateful turd) tea. God, George was learning to hate his little brother. But at least he'd proven capable around the shop as he studied to take his Potions NEWT in order to facilitate joining the Aurors. And his stocky build was good for keeping the rowdier kids in line.

The biggest problem was that he seemed to have begun channeling their mother. He had her disapproving glare whenever George came down smelling of Firewhiskey, he forced him to shower regularly, he even went out and brought back lunch for them both during his shifts. George was just glad neither he or Lee had tried to talk him out of drinking altogether. He couldn't do that. The pain was still too much to bear.

 _-Break-_

Summer was in full bloom, and the shop was busier than ever. There were perks to being a war hero. Everyone wanted to meet him and his brother. He'd taken to sneaking a shot or two during hours, to stave off the worst of the pain when return customers from the year before thoughtlessly asked where his twin had gotten off to. Didn't anyone read the list of the dead in the _Prophet_? Still, he was mostly coping.

And then one lady, a new customer, had to say something stupid.

George overheard from the other side of the display.

"So your older brother owns the shop?"

"Yep," Ron answered. "He's the other red head."

"Oh, I see! Yes, I think I saw him while I was browsing. So nice, offered to help me and all. You know, you two look a lot a like. Why, you could be twins!"

George stormed around the display. "We're not twins!" He shouted. It was hardly the first time he'd heard such a stupid idea, but he was damned certain it was going to be the last. "Everyone get the hell out! Shop's closed!"

There were groans amass.

"For how long?" One brave little boy asked.

George scowled with thunder in his brow. "Forever! Weasley Wizard Wheezes is closed forever! Now get out!"

The crowd began moving immediately to the door, still grumbling and groaning about being kicked out. George saw and dismissed it as several kids snuck out with items they'd been looking at. He didn't care. He was completely done dealing with inconsiderate people who couldn't understand that Fred was gone, that his other half, the answer to his riddle, was absolutely _never_ coming back.

"GET OUT!" George shouted when the customers weren't moving quickly enough.

The sound of shuffling feet sped up as people began pushing towards the door to escape his ire. As soon as the last customer was out, George's magic lashed out and slammed the door.

"George, what're you-"

"Get out," The lone twin seethed at his little brother. He didn't look at him. Couldn't look at him. He was done with Weasleys, with _being_ a Weasley. He would run away, start over, maybe become a hermit and resign himself to the lonely life he was now doomed to live.

"But, George-"

"I said for you to get out! Are you deaf?!" His uncontrolled magic lashed out again, slamming the shop door open again. Ron trudged out, and the door slammed closed a second time.

He would run away. He'd become a hermit. _After_ he had a farewell drink.

 _-Break-_

He hadn't left his flat in what might have been two weeks, maybe as long as a month. The good thing about owl post was mail-order alcohol. He'd even begun branching out, and trying other alcohols. He'd discovered a real love for tequila.

He hadn't answered his door, either. Ron had returned with every other Weasley in toe, save Percy, but he'd sent them all away before they could even get into the shop below. Percy had then made a visit of his own, and the stubborn prick had made it into the shop and up the stairs before he got tired of pounding at the door to the flat for over an hour. George had sent him on his way with a well-placed stinging hex for daring to disturb his hermit-hood.

Then Harry came. The powerful younger wizard bypassed all the traps, pranks, and locks in his way, and had found George passed out at his kitchen table meant for two. He'd dragged him to the shower, forced a sobering potion down his throat, and told him in no uncertain terms to shut up and listen.

"You're killing yourself," Harry said baldly. "I know why. I won't pretend I understand the loss you've suffered, but you must understand that I have at least some idea what you're going through. I want you to go see McGonagall."

George scowled. "What's our old Head of House got to do with anything?"

"You'd be surprised what that old cat can accomplish," Harry said patiently. "She counseled me after the war, and I think you could use some of that. You've been closed for over two months, the bills for your shop and flat have to be piling up by now. Your profit margin is definitely in the toilet. Do you want to lose the shop the two of you worked so hard to build?"

"No," George growled. He _didn't_ want to lose the shop. And what could it hurt? He could always become a hermit _after_ McGonagall failed to help him. It might even get everyone off his back. "Fine, I'll see McGonagall."

"Great! She says she's got some free time tomorrow, so stop by the castle any time!"

George glowered at Harry, who was utterly unaffected. After a minute of bustling around, magically tidying the flat George had destroyed in an angry, drunken rage, he patted his friend's shoulder and left. George sunk deep into an angry depression and poured himself another glass.

 _-Break-_

George found himself, showered and smelling less like booze than he had in the last year, waiting in the Entrance Hall. McGonagall appeared looking harried and annoyed.

"I'm so sorry, George, I'll need an hour. Hagrid's having a problem with the Centaurs, and Filius says there's a nest of pixies in the Charms office. Please, feel free to explore while you're here. The Fat Lady would be glad for a visit." And like that she was gone, out into the bright sunlight of late August.

George, sober and hating it, understood she was busy, but he hated himself for being convinced to do this. It was stupid. What was McGonagall going to say that would make anything all right again? Still, it couldn't hurt to explore a little bit. He moved immediately to the dungeons. Gryffindor might have been his House, but the dungeons was where he and Fred had flourished. They'd simultaneously discovered their love of pranking and Potions down here.

After a little exploration, George found the abandoned classroom he and Fred had used to lure First Year Slytherins to for their initiation. They'd worked in tandem with the elder Slytherins, who valued their trial-by-fire. Malfoy had been especially fun to scare the crap out of. Inside the abandoned classroom, George found a tall mirror standing in the center of the otherwise empty room. He walked over. Even if he hadn't heard Harry talk about the Mirror of Erised, he would have known what it was. His and Fred's secret language had composed in part writing their letters backwards.

Already knowing what he'd see in the cracked glass, George approached the mirror. He looked deep into an identical pair of brown eyes. His reflection. Except, where his lips had curled into a permanent frown, his reflection grinned, and where he was missing an ear, his reflection had both. And there was that freckle just beside his reflection's nose, darker than the rest. It was Fred, and as George watched, a reflection of his one-eared-self joined his brother in the mirror and they embraced.

The glass shouldn't have broken. It was a _magic_ mirror. Even so, the Mirror of Erised shattered beneath his fist. He stared at the millions of small and large-ish reflections, of him standing with his brother, embracing and waving at him from within. His knees buckled as sobs wracked his body painfully.

" _WHYYYYY?!_ " He screamed in anguish.

But there was no answer. There wasn't anything that would bring Fred back, nothing that would make his loss okay. Nothing could make the loss of his soulmate, the only kind that really existed, okay.

 _-Break-_

Eventually, George gathered himself. He did his best to stem the flow of his tears, and cast a repair spell on the mirror that reflected his pain. After drying his eyes and forcing himself to stop crying, he left the abandoned classroom for further discovery. With intent, he headed to the Potions classroom. That was the last time he and Fred had really fought side-by-side, protecting the little Slytherins. Then they had split up. That had been the mistake. And it had been _his_ idea.

Inside the Potions classroom, George was startled to find black eyes glaring at him. It took a moment for him to realize he was staring at a painting in the dimly lit classroom, and he stepped inside. He wondered why Snape was down in this portrait, instead of his Headmaster's frame in the Headmistress's office.

Snape stared at him, utterly still and silent before his blackboard, as George approached.

George stopped in front of the portrait. "I-" His voice cracked. "I'm here to speak with McGonagall," He explained with chagrin. "I'm not coping after the war, and Harry said she could help."

"Then you should be in her office."

"She's busy."

"Then why are you bothering me?"

George blushed. "You…you were the only one who could always tell us apart," He admitted. "Not even my mum can boast that."

"Of course I could," Snape scoffed. "You were two very different people."

"Were we?" George asked with a smirk.

"Of course," Snape repeated. "No two people are exactly alike."

George scowled suddenly. "That's not true!" He cried. "We _were_!"

"Were you?" Snape challenged. "So you both asked Miss Johnson to the Yule Ball? You both made an A or O in Charms during you last year, and not those grades respectively? You _both_ came to me to find the answers about potions you were struggling with in your business?"

George gaped. "Fred did that?"

Snape gave a single, firm nod. "He was afraid of disappointing you. I was sworn to secrecy, though not magically."

"But…" George stammered. "I would have agreed about coming to you. I would have understood! Why-why would he hide that from me?"

"I cannot say," Snape told him stoically. "But I don't think that is relevant My point remains, you were two very different people."

George frowned. "That doesn't make me feel his absence any less. You're no help at all!"

Snape shrugged. "I did not offer my assistance. Nor did I tell you not to feel as you wish. I was merely making a point. Take it as you will. By all means, if you wished to be coddled, I recommend you seek out your old Head of House."

"George?"

The Gryffindor started, but didn't turn.

"Bespeak the devil, and lo she appears," Snape said sardonically.

George scowled.

"George, I'm free now if you wish to talk over tea."

The lone twin turned. "No," He said flatly. "This was a mistake. I should never have come here. I need to get back to the shop." _It's all I have left of him_ , He finished in his head.

Without waiting for a response, George stormed down the center aisle.

"Oh!" McGonagall exclaimed as he pushed past her. George hurried away from the castle, Snape's words echoing in his thoughts over and over again.

 _-Break-_

The echo of Snape's words hadn't ceased in the last few hours. Even as George had poured himself a shot, the words had repeated. He'd sat down and begun to stare at the shot without drinking it as Snape's voice slid over his brain like water.

"Two different people my ass," George growled. He reached for his glass, but stopped halfway there.

"George, I'm dead," A voice spoke from the ether.

Even knowing the voice was in his head, George replied. "I know. I couldn't save you."

"It wasn't your job to save me."

"I should have," George argued petulantly. He grabbed his shot glass and raised it to his lips. Did he dare start drinking? He knew deep down that if he started he wouldn't stop this time. It would be to the death.

"I'm dead, George, but _you're_ not."

"I could be," George sobbed.

"Is that really what you think I'd want?"

George choked on another sob and lowered his glass. He covered his face as the tears came again. Then Snape's voice returned.

" _You were two very different people."_

" _I'm dead, but you're not."_

That was what Snape had meant. Just because one was dead didn't mean the other had to go through life dead as well. It still hurt monstrously. But this wasn't the answer. He shouldn't be wallowing in death. Fred would want him to live enough for both of them. And he would never have approved drinking, something they'd both abhorred before the war.

With a look of determination etched across his face, tears still leaking, George stood. He took his glass and the bottle to the sink and dumped them both in, pouring the alcohol down the drain. He drew in a deep breath, suddenly ready to face the world on both their behalf.

"Never give up, never surrender," He murmured as the bottle in his hand ran dry.

-End-

A/N: I am an identical twin, and this is not the ending I wrote. However, I couldn't manage to write my ending without crying, so this is what you get instead. If you know anything about being an identical twin, you know what the real ending is.


End file.
